


In A Hole In The Ground

by QuartzHollow



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Family, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuartzHollow/pseuds/QuartzHollow
Summary: Frodo Baggins gets stuck in a hole (literally). Thankfully a kind hobbit is passing by to help. Kinda weird, kinda rough gift for my two dear hobbits' birthday. First fic on AO3.





	In A Hole In The Ground

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Hobbit Day 2018. 
> 
> Happy birthday Frodo and Bilbo! 
> 
> A tiny window of opportunity for jamming this in contributed to the general wonkiness of this fic. 
> 
> P.S.: The Hooded Robin is the hobbits’ version of Robin Hood.

 

In a hole in the ground there pouted a hobbit. It was a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell; it was a rabbit hole, and for a young Mr. Baggins, that meant discomfort. 

 

Little Frodo Baggins had not  _ meant  _ to get his front half stuck in a rabbit hole, oh no. He wasn't  _ that  _ stupid. He had merely wanted to catch a pretty young rabbit. Uncle Norbert had just given his cousin Merry a pair of beautiful snowy bunnies, and Frodo had gotten quite jealous. Really, Merry had been insufferable about the whole situation, parading around his soft, fluffy pets like a great master displaying his jewels. Frodo had had to act. He had no choice. He needed a bunny of his own, and so he would have to catch one himself. 

 

Thus, the second he caught sight of the first unfortunate splotchy little mammal, he tore after it like a dog. The rabbit bounded quickly; he was faster, right on its heels. He followed it at it skittered to shake him off, as it leapt into the nearby brambly patch, even as it dove into the dark hole of its home. It couldn't lose him in there, Frodo had thought gleefully. He wasn't afraid of the dark; he'd follow right in. 

 

There was only one problem. Frodo was considerably bigger (and rounder) than a rabbit. 

 

And now it was getting dark out and no one had come for him. At least, he  _ thought  _ it was getting dark out. It was hard to tell when your front half was lodged in a rabbit hole, with the only light seeping in around your sizable middle. 

 

He  _ wasn't  _ afraid of the dark; he  _ wasn't.  _ But something twitchy and slimy was touching his nose, and it was all wiggly and gross and maybe not quite wormlike. Maybe it was a snake. Snakes were nice… if they didn't really like to nip at you. Aunt Periwinkle had said she'd had a snake bite her nose off once (“replaced it with a dough one, I did, that's why mine’s so lumpy, see — ”), but she was probably lying to scare him. Probably. 

 

A breeze fluffed over his furry little feet, and he curled his toes, realizing he had more to worry about than teeny tiny snakelings. His rear side was completely unprotected. A fox could come right up in the middle of the night — and it's been hours and hours since he got stuck, so it must be close to midnight, mustn’t it? — see his vulnerable feet, and chew off his piggies, one by one. And what if they forgot him up at the house and threw out all his stuff? Or worse, gave it all to Merry. His friend would inherit everything he had and he would be left a homeless beggar forever to filch from mushroom fields. 

 

His eyes misted over as he imagined it. Poor Frodo Baggins, a placeless urchin, wandering around with holes in his trousers (well _ , more  _ holes in his trousers) and a big hole in his heart (and belly). He would become a noble thief, like the Hooded Robin, stealing from the stingy rich and giving to the poor, with healthy amounts kept for himself. Stalwart heroes had to stay strong, and thus, well fed. 

 

His stomach growled at the thought of food. He was wasting away in here. He'd probably already missed three meals, and no one missed him. 

 

Hooded Frodo would, he supposed, waste away at first. Tragically. He would be faint with hunger, but he wouldn't complain, not once. He'd jut out his lip and eat grass or something, but very impressively. He'd tear a big chunkful out of the ground and gulp it in one bite with a mighty “Ha-HA!” 

 

Of course there would be dangers to look out for. Foxes, as he had mentioned earlier. Badgers. Stray dogs. Wolves the size of two hobbits one on top of the other. Nothing the Hooded Frodo couldn't deal with. He'd fashion himself a slingshot out of a few blades of grass and a bent stick and flick 'em off like flies. He wasn't afraid of the dark, and he wasn't afraid of anything else. He was the bravest young hobbit in all the Shire. Merry, with his cushy life of stolen rooms and white rabbits, would have nothing on him. 

 

Something grabbed him by his ankles, and the bravest young hobbit in all the Shire let out a yowling shriek. He kicked; he flailed; he bumped his head and got dirt in his eyes. And all the while the thing — the monster — the fox demon — pulled, and pulled, and pulled on his poor little legs. It kept pulling until he thought it would pull his legs clean off, just like that —  _ splat! —  _ and then there was a  _ pop _ , and Frodo went tumbling head over heels backwards, landing on his belly on top of something. 

 

“Eeuhhh...” 

 

Make that  _ someone _ . It wasn't a fox demon at all; it was another hobbit, a round, sandy-haired hobbit who lay flat out under young Mr. Baggins, groaning. Frodo jumped up indignantly. “What do you think you're doing?” he demanded, picking up a cane next to him (it must have been the hobbit’s walking stick) and pointing it like a sword at the intruder.

 

“What do you think  _ you're  _ doing?” the hobbit countered. He sat up, rubbed his head, and squinted at Frodo. 

 

In the orange-pink light of early evening (it hadn't been quite as long as Frodo had thought, but it was still a couple hours), the stranger's face looked somewhat familiar. Frodo stared him down hard. “ _ I _ was getting a rabbit.” 

 

“A rabbit?” The hobbit looked from Frodo, to the hole, and back. “And you got stuck.” 

 

“No,” Frodo protested, untruthfully, “I wasn’t stuck. I wanted to be there. It was part of my plan.” He looked back at the hole and shivered. “But you've scared him off now, so I guess there's no need to get back in. Now, who are you and what are you doing here?” He waved the cane threateningly to look imposing. The hobbit looked unimpressed. 

 

“Well, I  _ was _ going for a walk, and then I saw you stuck —” 

 

“ _ Nng —”  _

 

“—Alright, alright,  _ awaiting your prey, _ and I decided I had better unstick you. I'm Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. And you are…?” 

 

Frodo’s squinched eyes widened in wonder. “You're Bilbo Baggins?!  _ The  _ Bilbo Baggins!?” That was even better than the Hooded Robin. He hastily reached out a hand to help the legend up. “I can't believe it! You're amazing!” 

 

“Well, I had no idea I was so popular down here,” Bilbo Baggins mumbled with a snort. He took his cane and smiled kindly down at Frodo. “And who are you, my lad?” 

 

“Frodo, sir, Frodo Baggins,” the boy explained eagerly. 

 

“Frodo Baggins? Not the same Frodo Baggins born on September the 22nd?” 

 

“Yes, yes!” Frodo nodded so hard he almost shook his head off.  _ Bilbo Baggins  _ knew him. Bilbo Baggins, the famous hobbit who went off on daring adventures and beat ten trolls single-handedly, Bilbo Baggins who brought home wagonloads of treasure, Bilbo Baggins who conquered death. Bilbo Baggins, his second cousin once removed, though the mystical hobbit probably didn't bother to know that. 

 

Bilbo nodded contentedly. “Ahhh, so I thought. September the 22nd is my birthday too, did you know?” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Really. That's why I came down here — to celebrate it with my birthday-sharing cousin.”

 

“Wow.” Frodo exhaled and clicked his tongue. “I share a birthday with the mad Baggins…” 

 

Bilbo made a funny “ _ Shnwha? _ ” sound and rolled his nose. “Well, yes, alright, we'd better get back before your guardians have a fit.” He grabbed Frodo's arm, but the boy, suddenly remembering why he was there, dug his feet in and yanked backwards. 

 

“Wait! I’ve got to get my rabbit.” 

 

“Your rabbit.” Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Frodo my lad, it's already late —” 

 

“I'm not going back without my rabbit. I can't.” 

 

“Why not?” Bilbo knelt down and searched the little hobbit’s eyes. “You can always get a rabbit tomorrow.” 

 

“No, I can't. Merry has  _ two  _ rabbits, so I need at least  _ one  _ before I can go back.”

 

“Mm.” Tapping his finger on his chin, Bilbo regarded Frodo solemnly. “How about this. You go home without a rabbit today, and wait until September the 22nd, and I'll find you the softest, roundest, happiest rabbit I can get. It's  _ my  _ birthday, too, so I'll be giving out gifts to everyone — and that includes you. And today… today you can be my escort.” 

 

Frodo considered it. Mad Baggins drove a hard bargain, and it would be rather impressive to walk in at twilight, with everyone worried about him, with a snap and clamor like Bilbo’s triumphant return years before. Maybe they'd be in the midst of thinking he was dead, too, and  _ he'd  _ become a legend. “Ok,” he conceded at last, taking Bilbo's offered hand in his own. “So long as I can announce us as the Mad Baggins.” 

 

Bilbo laughed and squeezed Frodo's palm. “Alright, my lad, lead on then.” 


End file.
